


Machine

by WinterTheWriter



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: From John, M/M, Sherlock still needs a hug, Sherlock wants the D but John does not, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-03
Updated: 2014-05-03
Packaged: 2018-01-21 17:18:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 287
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1558100
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WinterTheWriter/pseuds/WinterTheWriter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What's the point of sentiment if it only leads to heartbreak?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Machine

**Author's Note:**

> This was written before Season 3, and therefore is not canon-compliant.

I am not a machine. I feel things, really I do. But what’s the point? What’s the point of sentiment if it only leads to heartbreak? Perhaps humans are just masochistic, or perhaps I’m broken. But I am not a machine.

Sure, I've managed to divorce myself from feelings, to put up the façade of an uncaring sociopath, but sometimes I cheat on my work with feelings. Sometimes it comes to me like a mistress, taunting and seducing me to give in, and sometimes I do.

For example, I’m pretty sure a sociopath doesn't look at his flatmate and dream of his kiss. I am also fairly certain that they don’t feel gut-wrenching jealousy every time that flatmate brings home another woman. Really, John, you’re too good for them. They’re all so dull and worthless. Of course, you’re too good for me as well, but I digress. I’m far too selfish to care about that. 

But I suppose I can also be selfless. I mean, I /am/ faking my own death to save your life. Yes, not only yours, but yours is the only one that matters. I cried for you, John. I never cry. Crying is for the weak, for the sentimental, but I suppose feelings made an unannounced visit to me that day. Damn them.

So you see, John? I am not a machine. I’m watching you go about your daily business while I play possum and I feel things. I feel hatred towards my feelings, selfishness and jealously towards your pathetic girlfriends, and undeniable, unwavering love towards you. Oh yes, John, I love you. And I will tell you. As soon as you turn around.

“Hello, John. I think it’s time I explain myself.”


End file.
